


Days like these

by Wichi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Michael Possessing Dean Winchester, One Shot, Sad Ending, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-11-02 01:30:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20576342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wichi/pseuds/Wichi
Summary: Castiel is grateful for a rare moment of peace with Dean, who teaches him how to fish and shares some of his favorite memories of it. The angel is soon confronted with the fact that Dean is nowhere near, and this is all just a memory of his own.





	Days like these

**Author's Note:**

> Set at the beginning of season 14. Originally posted on my tumblr rp blog fallenangelwings.

“No no no, like this, loosen up. Try it again, go on.”

There was a rather violent snap and splash a split second later, and Dean couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head.

“Dean.”

“I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_, you just released it too late, that’s all. Reel it in.”

Castiel’s callused hands fumbled with the crank on the weathered fishing pole the hunter had given him, and Dean had to duck as the baited end swung his way.

“_Whoah_\- watch the hook. Alright put that down a sec, lemme show you.”

The pole was slipped from the angel’s hands as the hunter instead took his arm by the wrist and elbow and lifted it.

“See, you’re gonna wind up, and when you get right _here_-” he stretched Castiel’s arm at an angle in front of his body, “you’re gonna release the line, okay? Just like you’re fist-bumping the sun, let’s see it.”

“That would be a very unwise thing to do,” Cas muttered into his coat as he bent down to retrieve the pole.

“I know, but now you’ve got that image in your head and it’s gonna stick. Fist-bump that sun, let’s do it.”

There was a note of hesitation before the fabric of the trench creaked, the release was triggered at the precise angle given, and the line sailed a respectable distance into the water with a whir of the reel. A smile crinkled the corners of those bottle green eyes as the hunter watched it go.

“THERE you go, PERFECT! See, you’re a natural!”

“This doesn’t feel very natural.”

But there was a softness to his chiseled features. Some of the ice had melted with Dean’s obvious delight. The hunter only beamed, and clapped his stiff shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter, champ, you did great. Sit tight and yell if anything bites before I get mine in the water.”

The sound of water and the woods around the lake were peaceful. As far as places to die had gone, Castiel vastly preferred this site. The rental house behind them had been boarded up, the charred wings in the dirt long since washed away, and now Dean was casting his own line before settling comfortably into a folding chair beside him.

There were days when the man was impatient and frustrated in teaching Castiel some nuance of humanity or another. There were days when they bickered. Still, there were also days like these. When Dean all but glowed as he shared some intimate part of his life, one fragment at a time, with Cas. His favorite music and movies, repairs on the Impala, the different flavors of pie. The two of them had even disastrously attempted to bake one once themselves, an afternoon that ended in laughter and a kitchen full of sugar. Every once in a while, there was still the telltale grate and crunch of tiny crystals beneath their shoes, despite how much time they’d spent cleaning it up.

There were the days when they didn’t have to be Dean Winchester, the man who saved the world, and Castiel, the shield of Heaven. Those days would live in his memory forever. Just as this day would. 

“…Did Bobby teach you to fish?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, Dean’s outstretched hand hesitating before grasping a beer from the cooler.

“No, actually, my dad did. If we were hungry and tight on cash, hey,” he heaved an exaggerated shrug, “Fish are free. Like with playing pool, we rarely fished for _fun_, but the old man loved it. I’ve got some good memories of me, him and Sammy fishing. Competing to see who caught what, who could clean fastest. Good times.”

The bottle cap was shucked off and he took a long gulp before humming into the neck with realization.

“Mmmmh- I _almost _forgot, where are my _manners,”_

Dean flipped the cooler lid open again and retrieved a bottle of hard strawberry lemonade. Cas couldn’t help a faint smile as the cap was popped off and the festively-pink glass was held out in offering.

“You remembered I liked these.”

“Course I remembered, I know you hate beer. Cheers-”

Their bottles clinked together, and that same lazy afternoon buzz filled the silence between them. Castiel couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so relaxed and content with Dean. It had to have been…

_When he taught me how to fish._

The angel went rigid. Those deep blue eyes wrenched shut if only just to hold onto the moment a little _longer_.

“Cas… you know you have to let me go.”

A tortured gasp was pulled from his throat as a familiar hand rested over his forearm and squeezed. Dean was hunched over in his chair so he might look the angel in the eye.

“I know. Believe me, Castiel, I _know _it goes against _everything _that tiny bird body of yours believes in, but you have to. What Michael did, that’s on _me_. That’s not on you. And deep down, you know I’m right. He’s probably got me watching the classics right now, just like this. Anything to keep me from telling him to get lost. And if I _do _wake up, he’s gonna tear into me until there’s nothing left. Hell, he mighta’ done it already.”

Hot tears trekked down his twisted features, and there was nothing he could do to hold them back. The angel’s rough hand wrapped around Dean’s wrist and held it tight.

“… I … I have to _try.”_

_ “I know you do._ I love you too, man. With _everything _I have. And if you can’t do it, you’ve got days like these to hold on to. And I’m… _god,_ I’m sorry I didn’t give you more of ‘em.”

Castiel fought through the tears and the anguish that choked his airways and paralyzed his limbs. But still, he held strong.

“Can I at least have… ten more minutes?”

Dean’s lip quivered, and his entire body shook with restrained emotion. He let the fishing pole drop and climbed to his feet, arms outstretched and waiting.

“You got it, buddy, c’mere.”

Castiel crumpled into the hunter, clinging as if his grip alone could make this moment reality. Dean’s arms wrapped around him protectively as the angel broke down and sobbed, hunched and hiding in the comfort of the man’s memory. And there he stayed, until the dream dissipated into darkness.

* * *

In the waking world, tears stained yellowed pages in the book of lore that served as the angel’s pillow.


End file.
